"Where's Mamma?" I asked Louella. "Where is she?"
"She couldn't come back," she said. "She ran up to her room."
I shook my head in disbelief. Why wouldn't she want to be here for Eugenia's last moments? My dumbfounded gaze went to Papa, who stood staring down at Eugenia's body. His lips quivered, but he didn't cry. His shoulders lifted and slumped and then he turned and walked away. I looked at Doctor Cory.
"How could this happen so quickly?" I cried. "It's not fair."
"She often ran high fevers," he said. "Often had influenza. This one just snuck up on us. She never had a strong heart and all the illness took its toll." He shook his head. "You better be strong now, Lillian," he said. "Your mother's going to need a strong person to lean on."
Right now, I wasn't worried about Mamma. My heart had been cut too deeply to care about anything or anyone else but my dead sister. I looked at her, shriveled by her disease, diminished and tiny in her big, soft bed and all I could do was think of her laughter, her bright eyes, her excitement whenever I would rush into the room after school to tell her the day's events.
Funny, I thought, because I had never thought it before, but I had needed her almost as much as she had needed me. As I walked from her room through the long, dark corridors to the stairway of the great house, I realized how desperately alone I would be from now on. I had no sister to talk to, to tell my deepest secrets to, no one to confide in and trust. Living through the things I did and felt, Eugenia had become a part of me, and that's how I felt right now—like a part of me had died. My legs carried me up the stairs, but I didn't feel like I was walking. I felt like I was floating along, drifting.
After I reached the landing and turned to go to my room, I lifted my head and saw Emily standing in the shadows of the first corner. She stepped forward, as stiff as a statue, her hands clutching her thick Bible. Her fingers looked chalk white against the dark leather cover.
"She began to die the day you set eyes on her," Emily recited. "The dark shadow of your curse fell over her tiny soul and drowned it in the evil you brought with you to this house."
"No," I cried. "That's not true. I loved Eugenia; I loved her more than you could love anyone," I flared, but she remained steadfast, undaunted.
"Gaze upon the Book," she said. Her eyes were so firmly focused on me, she looked like she had hypnotized herself. She lifted the Bible and held it face out toward me. "Within are the words that will send you back to hell, words which are arrows, darts, knives to your evil soul."
I shook my head.
"Leave me alone. I am not evil. I am not!" I screamed, and ran from her, ran from her accusing eyes and her hateful words, ran from her stone face, her bony hands and stiff body. I ran into my room and slammed my door behind me. Then I fell upon my bed and cried until I was drained of tears.
The shadow of Death crawled over The Meadows and cloaked the house. All the laborers and servants, Henry and Tottie, everyone was subdued and stood or sat with heads bowed in prayer. Everyone who had known Eugenia shed tears. I heard people going from and coming to the house all the rest of the afternoon. Deaths, just like births, always started a flurry of activity on the plantation. Eventually, I got up and went to the window. Even the birds seemed repressed and sad, sitting on the branches of the magnolias and cedars like sentinels watching over some sacred ground.
I stood by the window and watched night come rolling in like a summer storm, drawing the shadows out of every corner. But there were stars, lots of stars, some twinkling brighter than ever.
"They're welcoming Eugenia," I whispered. "It's her goodness that's making them twinkle so much tonight. Take good care of my little sister," I begged the heavens.
Louella came knocking on my door.
"The Captain's . . . the Captain's in his seat at the dinner table," she said. "He's waiting to say a special prayer before the meal."
"Who can eat?" I cried. "How can they think of food at a time like this?" Louella didn't answer. She pressed her hand to her mouth and turned away for a moment, gathered herself and looked at me again. "You better come down, Miss Lillian."
"What about Eugenia?" I asked, my voice so thin I thought it would crack over every word.
"The Captain's had the undertakers come and dress her in her own room where she will lay until the burial. The minister will be here in the morning to conduct a prayer vigil."
Without bothering to wash my tear-streaked face, I followed Louella out and down the stairs to the dining room, where I found Mamma, dressed in black, her face as white as a sheet, her eyes closed, sitting and rocking softly in her chair. Emily was wearing a black dress too, but Papa hadn't changed from his earlier clothes. I sank into my seat.
Papa bowed his head and Mamma and Emily did the same. So did I.
"Lord, we thank you for our blessings and hope you will take our dearly departed daughter into your bosom. Amen," he said quickly, and reached for the bowl of mashed potatoes. My mouth gaped open.
That was all? We had sat there and listened to prayers and Bible readings sometimes for nearly twenty minutes to a half hour before we could eat. And that was all to be said on Eugenia's behalf before Papa reached for the food and we began being served? Who could eat anyway? Mamma took a deep breath and smiled at me.
"She's at rest now, Lillian," she said. "She's finally at peace. No more suffering. Be happy for her."
"Happy? Mamma, I can't be happy," I cried. "I can't ever be happy again!"
"Lillian!" Papa snapped. "There'll be no hysterics at the dinner table. Eugenia suffered and fought and God has decided to take her from her misery and that's that. Now eat your dinner and behave like a Booth, even though—"
"Jed!" Mamma cried.
He looked at her and then at me.